Twas The Night
by TsukiBooks
Summary: Athos faces the darkest Christmas Eve of his life, coming to wish that he'd never been born. Then, he is visited by a Guardian Angel who shows him what life would be like had he never existed. (Inspired By It's A Wonderful Life) Slight AthosXOC, but main focus is friendship.
1. The Darkest Nights

**Author's Note: I know it's a bit late for a Christmas Fic, but this came to me when watching It's A Wonderful Life for the first time. It's been a while since writing but the combination of Exams, Family Commitment and a lack of inspiration has barely left me any time.**

**Regardless, this is my muse! Enjoy!**

**Summary: Athos faces the darkest Christmas Eve of his life, coming to wish that he'd never been born. Then, he is visited by a Guardian Angel who shows him what life would be like had he never existed.**

**Genre: Friendship &amp; Hurt/Comfort.**

**Rating: T, just in case.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any books/films/songs/characters that are featured or referenced in this Fanfiction.**

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**Twas the Night...**  
**Chapter One, The Darkest Night:**

"I knew somethin' were troublin' him. Troublin' him more than usual, I mean." Porthos said, as he and his Companion walked briskly through the chilly evening streets of Paris, their boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow.

"So did I." Aramis sighed, "He's always distant this time of year, but ever since...Milady...it's like he's been hardened somehow. I had hoped that being rid of the damned locket of hers would finally free him from the burden of guilt he's been harbouring all these years."

"Aye, me too. Looks like we were wrong." The Big Musketeer said, as he and Aramis exchanged grim looks.

It was Christmas Eve.

It was a time of merriment and joy. Porthos had just come back from his last patrol, before his three days off to enjoy the Yuletide, and had frolicked into the Garrison in a burst of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen', when Aramis had come hurtling into the Yard, grabbed the Big Musketeer by the arm and proceeded to hiss in his ear; "It's '25 all over again!"

To anyone else, they might have been confused. To Porthos, it was code for 'very, very bad.' You see, it had been on Christmas Day of 1625, when Athos had faced the darkest hours of his life. It had been on Christmas Day of 1626, when Aramis and Porthos had got him through it. So when Aramis whispered those five words in his ear, Porthos did not hesitate to follow after him at quick pace as they fled the Garrison.

Which was how they came to stand outside a dark and rather dank looking Tavern. Aramis pushed the rickety door open and the two Musketeers stepped inside, coming to find what would've been a fine merry mood, if not for their fear for Athos. And it did not take long for them to find the Man in question.

He sat in the darkest corner, glass discarded and drinking straight from the bottle. D'Artagnan stood by the bar, watching the Man he saw as a Mentor with concern. Naturally, Porthos and Aramis approached him.

"He told me to leave him alone, else he'd shoot me in the foot." The Gascon told them, with his brow furrowed. "After the last time he shot me when drunk, I decided I wouldn't take the risk."

"Good decision..." Aramis murmured, leaning against the bar.

Porthos gazed over at Athos with big sad eyes, the worry and the anxiety barring his forehead and adorning his face. "You were right about it being like '25 all over again...I haven't seen him so lost in a long time."

D'Artagnan shook his head; "I've never seen him like this before."

And it was true. Certainly, he had seen Athos in such a state of vulnerability and pain, back at La Fere. But, this was different. He was not vulnerable, in the sense of fear and hopelessness. He was angry. It was more like when Athos had caught Milady in the market and put his pistol to her neck, except ten times worse.

"Come on, let's get him home before he starts a fight because he's drunk all the wine." Porthos stated, and Aramis gave him a nod. The three of them set off across the Tavern to where Athos had just cracked open another bottle.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" Aramis inquired, as they arrived.

"As I am very aware of you still being here, I think not." Athos retorted, coldly. This would've usually been quite the wry comment, which at another time would've summoned a chuckle from his Comrades. Right now, however, it sounded deadly, even with the slight slur on his tongue.

"Is that your Gentlemanly way of tellin' us to piss off?" Porthos joked, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Did it work, however?

No, of course not.

"Leave me be." Athos growled, before tipping his head back as he brought the bottle to his lips. The red substance burnt his throat, for drinking was not a comfort, but almost a punishment to him.

"You've been trying that on us for 5-years, my Friend. It hasn't worked then, it won't work now." Aramis replied, simply. He reached for the bottle, only to have Athos pull it away and glare at him.

"I have been asking for 5-long-years for you to leave me be, yet you still insist to bother me!" He angrily snarled at them.

"Well, we ain't leavin' without you." Porthos stated, as he put his hands on the table and gave him a long gaze. Athos met the Big Man's gaze with a cold glare of his own. Aramis and D'Artagnan looked between Athos and Aramis as the staring-match continued, before looking at each other with concern.

"Porthos?"

A gentle voice broke through the glaring-battle, making all four heads turn. One of the Barmaids stood before them, clad in a simple skirt, chemise and bodice. She was mixed-race, like Porthos, with a round face but high cheekbones. Her eyes were a roundish almond shape, with thick eyelashes, and the colour of her irises seemed almost like like a violet shade in the light. Her dark hair was pinned up into a messy bun, with little ringlet curls escaping it.

Porthos blinked at the Girl.

"Noelle?"

"Porthos!" The Barmaid laughed, a beautiful smile adorning her face, as she placed the tray she held onto a table. Porthos' booming laugh erupted from him and he opened his arms wide to embrace her small body.

"Do my eyes deceive me; Noelle Maurice! My word! How have you been! Let me have a look at ye'!" He laughed, pulling back to enough to look her over, his great wolfy grin on his face. "You look beautiful!"

"Oh, nonsense." She said, with an embarrassed smile.

Porthos laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turning to face his comrades; D'Artagnan looking bemused, Aramis looking politely charming and Athos having retreated back to his drink. "Lads, this is Noelle. Me and her grew up together, we did!"

"Ah, so you know our Porthos, well then?" Aramis asked, politely.

"Everyone in the Court of Miracles knew Porthos well!" Noelle chuckled, with a smile. "The Gentle Giant, we used to call him."

"Noelle, this is Aramis, and this D'Artagnan." The 'Gentle Giant' introduced, gesturing to first the Romantic and then the Gascon. He then turned to the Comte De La Fere. "And this is Athos."

"It's nice to meet you all." She said, as she shook hands with Aramis and D'Artagnan. She then turned to Athos, but found herself only ignored. She turned back to Porthos.

"So, I heard you were a Musketeer from Flee." Noelle said, with a kind smile. "I'm glad you've found your place in the World, I always knew you were meant for more than just the Court of Miracles! I've managed to escape that place myself."

"Fine words coming from a Barmaid."

The dry and spiteful comment came from Athos, muttered just loud enough for her to hear. She turned her gaze to stare at him, a gleam of hurt streaking through her eyes.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" She asked, pointedly.

Athos brought his bright blue eyes, dulled by wine, up to meet hers as he took a deep swig from the bottle he was already three quarters of the way through. "Only that you talk as if you have made some kind of elevated amendment to your quality of life, however I hasten to point out that you have come from the scum of the Streets, to the scum of the Taverns. And I imagine that although you now have a roof over your head, your role is still the same; using your beauty to persuade your Patrons into forfeiting their money from their pockets."

Something flashed again in her eyes, this time it was not only hurt, but anger. What happened next was so unexpected and so fast, that it shut Athos up real good, if only for a moment.

Noelle pulled back her hand and brought it around to slap Athos around the fast, hard. He choked the wine he had just been swallowing, bursting into a coughing fit.

"How dare you speak to me as if I am some kind of Working Girl! You have no right!" She yelled, angrily. With that, she turned and whisked away, without even giving him a second glance.

"Noelle!" Porthos called after her. Anger contorted his face and he turned back to Athos, seizing the front of his doublet and dragging him to his feet. "What is the matter with you! She's the most decent Woman I've ever known, you can't speak to her like that!"

Athos tore himself away from Porthos' grasp, stumbling back to hit the chair and send to falling onto the floor. His own eyes burned with rage, his jaw was set tight and his fists were balled into fists.

"My apologies, did I offend your little Friend?" He hissed, his voice was like it was laced with venom. Porthos growled as he pulled his fist back, but before he could throw the punch, Aramis caught his arm.

"Don't." He cautioned, carefully. "He's trying to taunt you into fighting him."

"And it seems to me that it's working." Athos stated dryly, from behind him, taking up the bottle again and taking another long drink from the contents. Aramis shot him a dark look, but kept his eyes, otherwise, trained on Porthos.

"Don't rise to it. You know he doesn't mean it." He calmly reasoned. Porthos dropped his fist, giving Athos one last glare, before stalking off in search of his old friend. Aramis let out a deep sign and then turned to Athos.

"That was uncalled for, she hadn't done anything wrong." He said, gently. Athos put the bottle to his lips and drank again, turning his cold gaze to him. D'Artagnan looks between them, uncertainly.

"Always one to fall to a pretty face." Athos sneered, harshly.

"Athos-..." Aramis murmured, moving to take a step closer. Very suddenly, the elder Musketeer threw the bottle to the ground, where it smashed loudly, and drew his pistol, pointing it directly at Aramis.

"Leave, Damn it!" He yelled, anger evident in his voice.

Aramis eyed the barrel of the gun, warily. He knew that Athos would never shoot him, never. But that didn't mean that Athos would hurt himself. He caught D'Artagnan's arm and pushed him toward the door.

"Go. We're only making him more agitated." He whispered to the Gascon, and the two of them left.

Athos holstered his gun back when he saw that Aramis, D'Artagnan and Porthos had gone. He picked up the last of the bottles from the table, pulling the cork from it's top with his teeth and spitting it aside. He gulped it down heavily, letting it burn his throat.

_They deserved better than me._ He thought with despair.

_TO BE CONTINUED..._

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**Throw me a review :)**


	2. The Guardian Angel

**I finished this second chapter really quickly. I guess I'm just enjoying writing this. Am I hopeful that this will be done by New Year? Not at all. But we can give it a go!**

**Rating: T, just in case.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any books/films/songs/characters that are featured or referenced in this Fanfiction.**

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**Twas The Night...**

**Chapter Two, The Guardian Angel:**

The Night was late when Athos stumbled out of the Tavern, and snow had fallen thickly, leaving a deep blanket of white in it's wake. Athos trudged through it, goose bumps rising on the back of his neck, and it felt as if each step only broke his heart even more.

He truly believed that the four Men, who he cared for so deeply, deserved to have a better man as their Brother in Arms. He believe that they deserved better than him.

Porthos, the Gentle Giant, indeed. A Great Fighter, a Loyal Friend and A Man who lives life to the full. Aramis, the 'Romantic Hero Type'. With such an insight into Human Nature, the Man was brave and loyal and faithful. D'Artagnan, the Gascon Farm-boy. So young and enthusiastic, yet having seen enough of the world to feel a fierce hunger for justice.

And what was he? A Coward, a Fool and a Man with the blood of the innocent on his hands.

Athos hadn't made it a street over when he ran into a group of drunk Red Guard. Perhaps, seeing easy-pickings, the Red Guard surrounded the intoxicated Musketeer. Before Athos could register what was happening, one of the Red Guard's fist had collided with his face. The next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap on the ground, being kicked at and stamped on until he couldn't draw breath.

And then they were walking away, toward the Tavern, and laughing cruelly among themselves.

"Merry Christmas, Musketeer!" One of them yelled back, spitting the words out as if it were poison.

For a long while, Athos just lay there in the snow, with a bloody lip. The cold made his muscles tense and his bones stiffen, and his body ache altogether. But he made no effort to get up.

For what would be the point? He would be better dead. He had nothing else to offer, not really. His heart was broken beyond repair, his soul was troubled and undoubtedly damned. His cold hard walls meant he could never offer comfort or reassurance. And the heavy weight on his chest meant he could never bring himself to laugh and share in joy.

Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan would certainly be better off without him. They would be freed from their sense of duty to him. They would be free to laugh and enjoy life, without his mournful presence making everything cold. They would no longer have to deal with the consequences of his past.

And as Athos' mind drifted there, there was no turning back.

Thomas would have been better off if he had been dead, for he wouldn't have met Anne, she wouldn't have killed him. Thomas would have led the life he deserved to live.

And not only Thomas, but Remi would have lived also. And all the others that Anne had murdered as a result of the Monster she had become, the Monster he had made her.

In that sense, it would have been better if he had never been born. Then there would be no consequences for Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan, for Constance and Treville, to bear. Thomas would have lived. Surely even Anne would have had a better life without him.

With that cruel thought in his muddled mind and the coldness and darkness beginning to consume him, the words then fell from Athos' bloody lips; "I wish I had never been born."

And that was all he knew, for a long time.

* * *

Bells rang out in a gracious tune, slowly bringing Athos to awareness. As his eyes fluttered opened, he found himself lying flat on his back, staring up at the intricate design that was the ceiling of Notre Dame. His brows knitted together, _'When did I get here?'_

"Ah, you're awake!"

The voice made Athos bolt upright into a sitting position, far too alert for someone who had drunk far too much than what was healthy for any Man's liver. He looked around quickly, finding the Cathedral completely empty, except for himself.

And the pretty Barmaid from the Tavern, sitting elegantly upon a pew before him. Except, she was different from before. She was dressed in perfectly pure white dress, the skirt of which finished in flowing and varied lengths of fabric, that came to her ankles, with equally as flowing sleeves. She wore no shoes or drape or coat, as if the cold did not affect her. Her hair had been released from it's untidy bun, leaving long ringlets to gracefully flow down her back. Her eyes shone with a lightness that Athos hadn't noticed before, exaggerating the violet shading to them.

"You again?" Athos murmured, almost to himself. The Barmaid smiled, a bright and radiant smile if had ever seen one. Did he not noticed that before? He got uneasily to his feet, keeping his eyes fixed on her.

"Aren't you cold?" He asked, finally, noticing her bare arms and toes.

"Not really." The Women replied, with a shrug. Athos arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. What could you say to that? Instead, he looked around Notre Dame. He couldn't remember getting there. Last he could remember was his delightful encounter with those Red Guard, and then...

His heart sunk as he remembered lying there in the snow, as he recalled all those mistakes, the lives taken by his hand. And how better off his Friends would be without him.

"You're wrong." The Women suddenly said, breaking through his muddled thoughts. Athos looked over his shoulder, finding her still sitting on the pew and watching him with gleaming eyes.

"Wrong about what?" Athos asked, uninterestedly.

"That Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan would be better off without you." She answered, in a tone that suggested she was making light conversation over tea. The Musketeer turned quickly, fixing his eyes on her.

"Excuse me?"

The Barmaid looked at him, intently, as the corner of her lip pulled up into an amused smile. "They wouldn't be better off without you. They love you. They need you."

"You know nothing." Athos scoffed, harshly. "This matter does not concern you."

It was her turn to arch an eyebrow at him, and she rose gracefully to her feet.

"I think you'll find, Athos, is that I know all about you." She countered, as she approached him. "I know that the blame you hold in your heart, I know regret that troubles your soul. I know about Milady, about Thomas..."

Athos glared at her as she stepped right up in front of him, barely inches away. "I know about everything."

"Who are you?!" Athos growled out. His hand shot out to grab her arm forcefully, but it clasped on thin air, because as he blinked he found she had disappeared from in front of him.

"Well, I think you know who I am."

He swivelled around, finding her sitting, cross-legged, upon the steps leading to altar. She smiled brightly, and Athos stared at her, completely dumbfounded. He glanced at the place she'd been, then back to where she was now.

"How did you-...?" He trialled off, confusion edging onto his face.

She raised her eyebrows, expectantly. "You still don't quite get it do you?"

"I'm still trying to remember how I got here, Mademoiselle, so please forgive me if I'm a bit slow on the uptake." Athos drawled, wryly as he moved to sit down at one of the pews. It was too early for this, and he really should have a hangover after the evil amount of alcohol he consumed.

"Allow me to introduce myself," She said, dancing lightly to her feet. "I am your Guardian Angel."

Athos stared at her for a moment, before sighing and rubbing his hand over his face. This was just too much. He looked back up at her and gave her a tired look. "How much did I drink last night?"

"Too much, really." She answered, lightly. "But I'm not here to talk about you drinking your way to an early grave. And this isn't some drunken hallucination, I ensure you."

"Well, I'm convinced." He scoffed, shaking his head. The Barmaid gracefully moved over to him, settling on the pew next to him and folding her hands in her lap.

"You believe that the world would be a better place had you never been born." She stated, with such a softness to her voice. "I am here, because you are wrong."

"Oh, am I?" Athos inquired, fiercely. "Had I never been born than Thomas would have lived! Aramis, Porthos, D'Artagnan, Treville, Constance, hell even the Queen, would have never had to suffer the consequences of my actions! I am quite sure that even Anne would have had a better outcome in life without me!"

"You're wrong." She declared, simply.

"Then explain to me, _what_ benefit am I to anyone!?" He demanded, angrily. There was a lingering silence following his request, as Athos turned his eyes back to the front of the Church.

"Perhaps I could show you?" She said, gently, as she turned her eyes onto him. Athos turned to meet her gaze, her eyes burning with brightness and light. He stared into those deep pools, before dragging his eyes away.

"And how would you do that, oh my Guardian Angel?" Athos asked, sarcastically.

"Angel will do, just fine, thank you." She shot back, as she rose to her feet. She offered him her hand, with a knowing smile gracing her lips. "Take my hand, and I will show you what Life would be like had you never existed."

Athos stared at her for a moment.

"Why the Barmaid?" He asked, after a moment. She raised her eyebrows, so he elaborated. "If you _are_ my Guardian Angel, then why do you look like Porthos' Friend, the Barmaid?"

"Because..." She began slowly. "You thought she was beautiful, but being as you are frightened of beautiful women, you instead treated her the way you did."

Athos raised his eyebrows a little, surprised that she knew _that_ as well. If he was a little more hopeful, he may have thought that she really _was_ his Guardian Angel.

"Shall we go?" Angel asked, with a smile. Athos gazed at her for a moment longer, before with a huff, he got to his feet. It wasn't that he believed her, oh no. He was, just sometimes, a little hopeful.

Athos placed his hand in hers, and she grinned at him radiantly. Despite all his concerns and doubts, and all his fears and miseries, for a moment he couldn't help the small twitch in the corner of his lip.

"Come along then, Musketeer."

_To Be Continued…_

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**Come along then, Readers!**

**Keep on reading and please review. ****Reviews are my life source!**


	3. The Brother & The Wife

**So it is unlikely I'll finish this before New Year, Frankly, I'm not even going to try it. But, I'll see if I can finish it for Friday, (I say without any real hope) before the start of Season 2 of the Musketeers **

**Rating: T, just in case.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any books/films/songs/characters that are featured or referenced in this Fanfiction.**

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**Twas The Night...**

**Chapter Three, The Brother and the Wife:**

Athos blinked, and then blinked again, just to make sure. He was at La Fere, standing in the vast white snow that layered over the fields before the Chateau. His jaw dropped.

Angel leaned her chin against his shoulder, twining her arm around his, and an amused smirk graced her lips. She raised her hand to tap at his chin, making him close his mouth.

"But...we-we were in Paris...just now, right now...and...what…how is that possible?" He stammered out, totally baffled.

"I told you," She said, lightly. "I'm your Guardian Angel."

Athos shook his head, trying to clear it, and rubbed his eyes, just to check that he wasn't hallucinating. He wasn't, which only functioned to strengthen his uncertainty and complete confusion.

"I'm losing my mind." He murmured, wearily. He looked at Angel, who stood beside him with her arm still linked to his, looking at La Fere with a graceful smile. Her arms were still bare, and her glancing down, he found she didn't have any shoes on either.

"Aren't you cold?" Athos asked, brow knitting together with concern.

"Nope." She answered, adding a little _pop_ to the 'P'. The Musketeer stared at her uncertainly, before turning back to the Chateau. None of this made any sense, particularly not her.

"Shall we go in then?" Angel suggested, with all the pleasantness of mentioning the weather. With her arm still hooked in his, she took off across the white expanse, dragging Athos along with her. As they went, he glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to find that she, nor he for that matter, had left any footprints.

This day was getting stranger and stranger with each passing moment.

It wasn't long until Athos and his Guardian Angel had reached the Chateau. They went in through the back door that led into the kitchen. Athos was welcomed, as soon as he walked in, with the smell of roasting turkey and the chatter of Cooks and Scullery Maids. He looked around the sizable kitchen, as clear preparations were being made for Christmas Dinner.

"This reminds me of preparations for Christmas Dinner when I was a Boy." He murmured, a wistful smile on his lips. "The smell of turkey, vegetables simmering in pots..._Ha!_ Madam Beauchene, the House Keeper!"

A small and plump woman hobbled into view, barking orders at the Scullery Maids.

"She always was a bit of a dragon." Athos chuckled, with a smile. Angel took his arm again, and led him to the staircase that led to the main house. He followed after her, looking around his old home.

It seemed so much different when it wasn't covered in cob-webs and dust, or going up in flames. It was fully decorated with holly and wreathes hanging up, and pomanders leaving scents of fresh citrus about the Chateau.

Athos followed Angel into the familiar sitting room, where a fire had been lit. A single armchair rested in the room, facing the fire, so that the Man in the chair had his back them. A glass of wine sat on a table beside him.

His Guardian Angel slipped from his side and went to stand beside the fire, looking at the Man with strangely sad eyes. She turned her eyes to Athos, and gestured to the Man.

"Go on..." She encouraged, softly.

Athos moved to stand beside her, shifting to look at the Man in the armchair. His breath caught, his heart jumped and all the weight from his shoulders just disappeared. For there, sitting in that armchair, was Thomas.

"Thomas?" Athos choked, a crooked smile spreading across his lips. "Thomas! You're alive! I can't believe it!"

The Musketeer went to move to him, but was stopped by Angel, saying; "He can't see you. You and I are like dreams, we aren't really here."

He stepped back, laughing breathlessly as he gazed at his little Brother, so grown up. His dark blue eyes were clearly deep in thought as he gazed into the flickering flames. He lazily lifted the glass of wine from the table to drink from it.

"He looks sad." Athos noted, thoughtfully.

"Remi! Get in here!" Thomas suddenly shouted, his voice cold. It made the smile slowly slip from Athos' lips and his brow knitting together with confusion. Thomas never spoke like that, not to anyone. In the next moment, Remi walked in, suited and booted in a fashion that Athos had never known him to wear, far too formal.

"My Lord?" Remi addressed, his hands behind his back.

"Refill my glass." Thomas commanded, holding out his near empty cup with airiness. Remi picked out a fresh bottle of red from a counter across the room, and then plucked the cork from it's top. He proceeded to fill Thomas' cup to the brim.

"Will that be all, my Lord?" The Valet asked, formally. Even when he was the Comte, Athos had never wished anyone, especially Remi, to call him 'Lord'. And Thomas was very much the same, he even considered Remi a friend, not a Servant. This was all so out of character.

"I expect that you shall want tomorrow off, Remi." Thomas said, speaking with such a condescending and detached formality, it made Athos take an involuntary step back into the wall. His Brother was warm and kind, a bit naive, but he treated everyone as equals and as friends, even strangers.

"I was hoping to, my Lord, if it is not an inconvenience." Remi tentatively answered, as if frightened by his not unreasonable request.

"As a matter of fact, it inconvenient." Thomas harshly barked out, rising from his chair. "I am to have many guests from the Court for dinner, tomorrow. And I expect you here, extra early, tomorrow morning."

"What!?" Athos broke out, utterly horrified by his Little Brother's behaviour.

"But-but, My Lord-..." Remi spluttered out.

"Silence, you penniless pig!" The young Comte angrily roared. "I am the Comte De La Fere, and _you_ are nothing more than the dirt on my shoe! And you will do as I say!"

There was a brief silence as Athos stared at the scene before him with shocked disbelief and horror. It was enough to make him suddenly feel sick and his stomach turn to lead. This could not be happening.

"Yes, my Lord." Remi finally sighed, quietly.

"Good. Now, get out!" Thomas sneered, sitting back down and gazing into the fire and drinking his wine. Remi gazed at Thomas for a moment longer, hopelessness and despair in his eyes, before turning and leaving.

"Thomas..." Athos murmured, staring at his Little Brother with confusion and disbelief marring his face. "I don't understand. Thomas...Thomas isn't like this. He's kind, and generous, and...My baby Brother isn't like _this_."

"Except, he is not your baby brother, Athos." Angel added, softly. "At least not the one you know."

"What happened to him?" He asked, sadly.

"It's not what happened to him Athos, it's what didn't happen." She answered, simply. He turned his gaze to look at her, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. He couldn't understand what could have made his Brother so cold and cruel.

"As you were never born, he was the first, and the only, son of your Father; Olivier." Angel continued, "You must recall how much pressure there is, being the heir to the role of Comte. You must remember how lonely it is."

"I remember, well. But..." Athos sighed as he looked at his younger Brother again. "I was always thought that Thomas would have been suited to the role than I."

"And he is!" Angel added, calmly. "He is suited well the role of Comte De La Fere. He is a Political Master, within the King's very inner circle. He had great influence and the Estate has never wealthier."

Then she sighed; "But being a Good Noble, does not make a Good Man. Thomas grew bitter and cold, growing up. He became a bully. Although the estate itself is wealthy, the people are not. They live under his heavy taxing and fierce rule. Tonight...Remi will take his life, because of the cruel treatment he suffers at the hand of his _Lord_. And Thomas? He will not care."

"Thomas is kind though, by nature." Athos tried to protest, but Angel cut him short.

"Thomas was kind because _you_." She corrected, simply.

The Musketeer looked at her again, and asked; "Me?"

"_You._ Growing up, Thomas took after your example of grace and charity. The same grace and charity you took after from your Mother." Angel told him, gently. "She died when he was still young, too young to remember her. You, on the other hand, remember her. So without you, Thomas had no example of the kindness, you see as his nature. Without you, he is this.

If you were not born; this is what would have become of Thomas. Certainly he lives, but he lives a life of unhappiness and bitterness. Whilst when he lived, he lived a life of joy if only for a short time." Angel finished, lightly.

Athos stared at for a long moment, before turning his eyes to Thomas, well on his way to intoxication. All the weight that had left his shoulders mere moments ago settled again, and this time it felt heavier than before.

Finally, he sighed and turned away; "I want to go."

"Very well," She conceded, giving a short nod of her head. "But there is more."

Angel slipped her hand into his, and there was a flash of white light.

* * *

Upon opening his eye, Athos found himself back in Paris, once again, in the all too familiar courtyard of the Chatalet. High dark walls rose around them, with windows in which Prisoners looked out off. Standing before them was gallows, in which a noose hung dauntingly, snowflakes fluttering about it.

"Why are we here?" Athos asked, turning to Angel.

"Just watch." She replied, looking up at the noose, swinging in the bitter wind.

It was just then that a door opened from across the yard. An Executioner stepped out, followed by a Priest. Athos tilted his head, watching the scene with confusion and wariness. From the shadowy doorway, the very person he had sentenced to death himself.

Milady De Winter, clad in a tarnished ragged dress. Her once sleek hair was a messy tangle. She was incredibly pale, with dark shadows under her green eyes. She seemed only a shadow of the woman he had ever known her to be. But the contempt in her eyes lingered still.

"Anne?" Athos murmured, shock writing itself across his face.

"You said that even _she_ would be better off had you never been born." Angel said, watching as Milady walked with her head held high over to the gallows, with guards either side of her. "Well, you would be wrong again."

"What happened to her?" He asked, although without a shake in his voice.

"Even if she had never met you, had never married you, she made the same choices then led to her failings. She murdered people, became an Seductress Assassin if hire. The only difference between the two chain of events...you offered the chance of a better life." She told him, evenly. "First when you married her, and then when you let her go."

The Executioner looped the noose around her neck, as the Priest stood praying for her soul.

Athos turned away; "Please, I cannot watch her die."

"You still feel for her?" Angel asked, almost curiously.

"Not in the way I did once." He answered, as the Priest finished his prayers. "I pity her."

Angel nodded, understanding, and slipped her hand into his again; "Know this; it was not _you_ who turned her into what she was _her_ decisions, _her_ choices that made her who she was."

The Executioner slipped the stool from beneath her feet, and then were a flashing of light around them.

_TO BE CONTINUED..._

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***Ducks for cover* Please don't lynch me! - ****Coming up, the Captain and the Constant Friend. **

**Please review, follow, favourite! It makes me feel so good inside, like a hug to the soul!**

**God Bless and Happy New Year!**


	4. The Captain & The Constant Friend

**Hmm…So it's what? Been a month since the last update? I'm really sorry and it is now far past the time for Christmas Fics, but I refuse to leave it til next year.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy. **

**Rating: T, just in case.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any books/films/songs/characters that are featured or referenced in this Fanfiction.**

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**Twas The Night...**

**Chapter Four, The Captain &amp; the Constant Friend:**

"Is this the Garrison?" Athos asked, for upon opening his eyes, he found that he and Angel were standing in the centre of what appeared to be the yard of the Musketeer Garrison. Except, desolate; the widows were cracked or smashed, the wooden beams brittle and the steps leading to Treville's Office were all be destroyed.

"It was." Angel answered, with a sidelong glance in Athos' direction.

"Was?" He repeated, and he turned to look at her, only to find that she was not where she had been only seconds ago.

"Do you still believe that the lives of your loved ones would have been better had you not been born?" Her voice drifted over to him, and looking around Athos found her standing above him outside Treville's Office, leaning against the unsteady railings. "Now that you have seen what would have come into being?"

He gazed up at her, silent for a moment; "I do."

She raised her eyebrows, prompting him further.

"Thomas is alive. If I had not been born, he lives." Athos commented, humbly. "His life, regardless of how different it may have been, is still more precious to me than my own. Do not ask me to wish my life over that of my Little Brother."

Angel nodded, seeming to understand or at least accept his point. He blinked, and was surprised that she had once disappeared. Turning, he found her standing in the arch of the Garrison Tunnel.

"Very well." She said, simply. "In that case, there is more you should see."

Angel touched his arm and in a blink of an eye; she and Athos had once again transported. They stood in the tiny kitchen which Athos had visited many times, and right on cue; Constance stepped into the room, carrying a pot of vegetables.

"Constance?" He murmured, brow knitting together. He glanced at Angel, and she simply gave him a sidelong smile and then turned her gaze back to the Seamstress, as she hoisted herself up to sit upon the table. Athos followed her stare, turning back to Constance.

The Young Woman seemed different, somehow, in an not-so-obvious way. She was thinner and paler, with dark shadows beneath her eyes. It struck up a rather protective instinct in him.

"Constance!" came the sharp voice of Monsieur Bonacieux, announcing his arrival as he entered into the room that was dimly lit candles. As he came to stand in front of the table, right in front of Angel, she stuck her tongue out pointedly at him.

"Really?" Athos asked, arching an eyebrow.

She shot him a grin; "Don't pretend you don't think he's a right ar-..."

"Constance!" Jaques repeated, loudly and arrogantly. "My Second Cousin and his Family will also be joining us for Christmas Dinner."

"Really?" She murmured, something very tentative in her tone and anxiousness adorning her face. It made Athos frown, for the Constance he knew had never been tentative.

"Yes. Is that a problem?" Jaques demanded, sounding as if there had better not be a problem.

"No. Well...it's just that...that would be another four people and then we'd have twelve at dinner all together and..." Constance trialled off and looked to the table, which bore a couple of bowls vegetables, and one large bird. Athos twigged on instantly.

"There's not enough food." He murmured, more to himself than anyone, but Angel heard him and nodded.

"_And?!_" Mr Bonacieux repeated, expectantly.

Constance diverted her gaze to the ground, ringing her hands together nervous. "Never mind. There's no problem."

"Good." The Draper turned on his heel and marched out. Constance sighed and turned back to chopping her vegetables. Athos stared at her back, concerned.

"She won't eat." He stated. He'd lived in Paris long enough to know how it worked. And he'd known Constance long enough to know this wasn't her typical behaviour.

"What's wrong with her? The Constance I know would have just said that there wasn't enough to feed his whole family, and he would've just had to accept it!" Athos asked, turning back to Angel. "She's stronger than this!"

Angel smiled sadly at him.

"Do you remember when you first met Madam Bonacieux?" She asked, simply. He frowned and turned back to Constance.

"Yes." He sighed, concern written all over his face. "I'd been in Paris a month or two. I was living in either dingy old taverns or the streets, but I was caught up in my own grief that I didn't care." He explained, the memory coming to him like it were yesterday. "I picked fights, I drank even more than I do now, I was a mess. And then I met Constance. Some Thugs had cornered her down some alley on her way home the Market. I stopped them from mugging her, and was thanked for my actions with a severe beating myself. Afterwards, I was so weak from fatigue...I passed out. Constance picked me up out of the gutter and took me back to her home. She had me wash, gave me clean clothes, a hot meal, and then proceeded to scold me for my life choices. But she looked out for me after that. Patched me up whenever I got into fights. Gave me hot meals when I hadn't eaten for days. She even went to the Captain, telling him what a good swordsman I was."

Angel smiled as he finished his tale, and Athos turned to look on at Constance's back with sad eyes. "She saved my life."

"I think it worked both ways." Angel suddenly said, in her feather light voice. "I think you saved Constance Bonacieux, too."

Athos shook his head. He had brought Constance nothing but trouble. He was even the cause of her heartbreak, for had Milady never gotten involved with D'Artagnan to get at him, she and D'Artagnan would still be together. Happy.

"Imagine; had you never been born; who would've saved Constance in that alley that day? No one. The attack left her beaten and bruised and bloodied. And did her Husband care? He was more bothered by the scars it left on her..."

Athos' eyes flickered down to the white lines standing out stark on Constance's pale forearm. And as she pushed her auburn bangs from her eyes, he felt a lump rise in throat. A jagged, ugly scar ran from the right side of her forehead, cutting into her eyebrow and down the side of her face, to her cheek bone.

"It broke her spirit. She grew afraid. Afraid to leave her House. Afraid to stand up for what she believed in. So she stayed silent, grew to be the dutiful wife that Bonacieux always wanted. But she'll die young, because of taking care of everyone else eventually kills her."

Athos suddenly jerked away and rushed from the House. As he stumbled outside, he bent over and heaved. The idea that Constance had been hurt so badly because he hadn't been there was nearly enough to break him.

"Come on." Athos looked up and saw Angel standing in front of him. "There's more."

She turned and began to walk away from the Bonacieux House. Glancing back, one last time, Athos followed after her.

They walked some way, through the snow blanketed streets of Paris. Still reeling from what he'd seen, Athos stared at the ground without saying any attention to where they were going. He was distracted, then, by Angel's small bare feet contrast against the white snow.

"You've surely got to be cold." Athos muttered, bewildered.

"I'm really not." She answered, with a sidelong grin aimed his way.

It was then that Athos and Angel arrived at their destination. Looking up, Athos saw a sign blowing in the cold wind. It was the sign of the tavern he had been drinking in before.

"What are we doing here?" He asked, turning back to Angel. She smiled brightly at him.

"After you," She said, pushing the rickety door open and standing back for him to enter. Athos stepped through and into the tavern. It was no different to before; filled with excited chatter and merriment because of the time of year.

Angel stepped into the tavern and looked around it with a broad grin on her face, as she stood beside him; "Well, this is nice."

"I've always thought so." Athos confessed, almost absently. "Places like this are so full of diversity. It's a safe haven for everyone. A place of community and a place to come together to laugh."

"A very optimistic view from someone content to isolate and torture themselves in drink." She remarked, with a sidelong smirk. He looked at her and smirked right back, as they began to wander through the crowds.

"Isn't that true of all in life, though? Regardless of whatever goodness that come out of it, there will always be individuals and groups who will misuse and abuse it. You see it everywhere; in Governments, Marriage, Faith." He concluded, as they came to stand in a corner.

"Well put." Angel conceded, thoughtfully. Her eyes left his face and fixed at a point in the corner of the tavern, and she nodded toward it; "Tell me, what do you make of that then?"

Athos shifted to look to the corner, and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Treville?" He gasped.

For there, in the corner, was none other than Treville, Captain of the King's Musketeers. He was a poor sight to see, all disheveled and half way to a drunk oblivion. His hair was unkempt, his beard was scruffy, his clothes were ragged and tatty. His usually keen eyes were dulled by drink and seemed empty, he leaned heavily against the table and seemed totally apathetic to his surroundings.

Athos set off across the Tavern to where his Superior Officer sat.

"What happened to him?" He asked, looking around at Angel, who had appeared behind Treville in question, leaning against the wall. "What's wrong with him!?"

"His fall from grace." She answered, calmly. "Treville was dishonoured and shamed; he fell in favour of the King, his reputation tarnished. He now drowns his sorrows and failings here."

"Fall from grace?" Athos repeated, bewildered. "But the Captain is a Man of integrity and honour; he has never failed in his duties. There is not one Musketeer who does not hold him in admiration and esteem!"

"Well, there lies the problem. The Musketeer Regiment? It's obsolete. No longer in operation." Angel told him.

"What? How can that be?" He asked, looking from Angel to Treville, trying to make sense of this all. "I hardly had any hand in the Formation of the Regiment. That was Treville!"

"No. That's true." She admitted, moving around and coming to rest her hand on the back of Treville's chair, looking down at the Musketeer Captain sadly. "But you did more than you think."

Athos listened to her as she went on, hearing what she had to say, seeing what was before him but still struggling to believe it all.

"You are one of the finest Musketeers, the Regiment has seen. And you have done so much for it. You have been a Man of example, like the Captain; you lead your life with a Code of Honour, provide wisdom and knowledge where it is required, stand up for the underdogs and the weak. You don't realise; but you are so admired and respected by your Peers."

"What does that have to the Regiment not being in function?" He asked, wanting her to get to the point. He couldn't stand hero-worship.

"Simple. Without you; the Musketeers failed." She said, shortly. She then continued; "You are Treville's Second in Command, his most trusted Lieutenant, and his most loyal of Musketeers. And the Regiment, itself, was one that took in the Outcasts, the Rejects and the Veterans. Without you, by Treville's side, and the Men who followed your example; the Regiment struggled to grow into the one you know it to be. And when the Cardinal went out to dishonour and destroy it's name, he went for the one who stood strongest; Treville. The Captain was dishonoured for whatever it was that the Cardinal had accused him off. And the Regiment was discontinued."

Athos was silent for a moment, before coming to sit opposite his Captain, a tired look adorning his face.

"Life is so often misused and abused by those who seek selfish power. But is those fair few; who use it for the potential good that every aspect of Life produces, it is those individuals; who make the real change." He said, sadly. "Captain Treville was one of those few. You say that the Regiment failed because I, and those who follow my example, were not there. But it was _Treville_, who I modelled who I would be on."

Athos gazed at his Captain with sadness, deep in thought. Finally, he asked the question that had been weighing on his mind ever since he had started on this strange adventure; "Where are they?"

He tore his gaze from Treville, and he raised his stormy eyes to Angel, and clarified; "Where are my Friends? Where are Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan?"

"You may not want to know the answer." Angel answered, quietly.

"I have to know." Athos countered, rising to his feet. "Take me to them."

He held out his hand, and Angel stared at him for a long moment. Finally, she reached out and took it. Athos dared not look back at Treville, instead closing his eyes and in his mind's eye swam the faces of the three people he longed to see the most, but feared to see all the same.

_To Be Continued..._

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**This has turned very angsty, very quickly.**

**Please review and tell me what you think! I love reviews. They make me feel so warm inside!**

_**And**_**…Keep Reading.**


	5. The Soldier, the Thief and the Farm-Boy

**Right! It's been a year! But I decided to leave this until December 2015 to finish because I was just not feeling the Christmas Spirit! But here we go and we only have a few chapters to go. So let's knock this baby out before the 25****th****! **

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**Twas The Night...**  
**Chapter Five - The Soldier, The Thief and The Farmboy:**

Noelle shivered as she stepped out into the cold night air, finishing the fastenings on her leather spencer jacket. She blew a curl that fell into her face out of it, and then headed off home; her boots crunching in the snow.

She always hated the Christmas Eve shift. It was filled with overly-intoxicated Men, who thought they had the right to grope her. Or outright insult her, as it turned out.

The words that Porthos' Friend, Athos, had said had wounded her. She had fought so hard to live a decent life, after the way she had started out in such dire circumstances. She had sold buttons she'd found or mittens she'd made. Worked hard to find accommodation outside of the Court of Miracles.

Noelle rubbed her fingerless gloved hands together, and turned a street corner. A gasp slipped from her lips, and she stopped dead in her tracks. The moonlight illuminated a figure, lying in the snow. She reached down to her boot, and pulled out a dagger. -She was from the Court of Miracles, after all.

Tentatively, the Barmaid approached the figure. When Noelle saw the pauldron adorning the figure's shoulder, she quickly let her guard drop. She rushed over and knelt down in the snow, too pre-occupied to concern herself with the wet coldness that seeped into her knees. She grasped his shoulder and turned him over.

Athos rolled onto his back.

"You again?" Noelle murmured, recognizing him from just hours before. She reached up to touch his face, which was frighteningly cold. She rested her other hand on his chest, searching for a heart beat. And it was there. It was a slow and numb thrum against her palm, but it was there nonetheless.

At that moment, she couldn't bring herself to be angry and leave him there. He looked so weak; his hair damp from the snows, his face pale with the flush of red on his nose and cheeks because of the cold.

"I'm going to help you, Monsieur." She whispered, gently. "You're safe now."

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Athos found himself alone, suddenly. He was in a room, which was empty and barren. The walls were peeling, the single window was pathetically rickety. Dirt coated the floor like a rug. Only a bed, a table and a chair were inside.

Angel was nowhere to be seen.

There was a loud slamming of a door downstairs. Footsteps echoed, the thud of boot against wood. Athos stared at the door, waiting.

The door opened.

"Aramis." Athos sighed, as the Soldier stepped into the room. He was oddly pale, and he carried himself heavily, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dark shadows encircled Aramis' eyes. Eyes that were usually so full of life and zest and energy, seemed so empty.

Aramis trudged slowly into his room, closing the door behind him. He placed a bottle of wine onto the table, and then went about removing guns from his person, placing each one in order of size on the table. Aramis removed his long leather coat, and picked up the bottle of wine again, heading to the head.

There was a long moment, as Aramis just stared into space before pulling the cork from the bottle top with his teeth, spitting it away and drinking.

Athos walked slowly over to the bed, sitting down on it with Aramis, as the man in question drank and stared into the darkness.

"Aramis? What's happened to you?" He asked, shakily. But he already knew the answer. He had seen this before in Aramis.

Savoy.

It had to be five years ago now. A cold night, not unlike tonight. The Musketeers, who had headed out on the training duty, had meant to be back a week ago. Treville lead a group to the Forest, on the Savoy Border. Athos was among them

And Athos was the one who found Aramis. He believed him dead at first, lying amongst the Corpses. Yet, Aramis' whimper as he passed over him made him stop. He'd gone to him, pulled him away from the bodies and bundled him his cloak. He had shouted for Treville.

Athos saved Aramis' life that night. And for many nights after that. He dressed Aramis' wounds, cleaned the dirt and snow and blood from his skin. He stayed up with him, for long nights where Aramis was too frightened to sleep, and during the nights when Aramis wailed and screamed in his sleep. He got Aramis eating again, he got him working again.

They hadn't been Friends before that. But Savoy changed that. They could hardly be called Friends...that didn't come until later, with Porthos. But from then on, where-ever Athos was, Aramis was never that far behind.

Yet it seemed that without Athos' support in those first few horrible weeks, Aramis could never truly get over Savoy.

Athos' thoughts were broken when Aramis got to his feet. He was still taking huge swigs from the bottle, as he went over to the table. He placed it down and reached for his prized pistol.

Athos froze. He slowly got to his feet, watching as Aramis -with steady hands- loaded the pistol carefully.

"Aramis?" Athos whispered, feeling like his gut had turned to lead. "What are you doing?"

It was then, that Aramis began to speak. Or rather...pray.

"Forgive me, Father. For I sinned against you and my neighbour." He spoke, in a ragged hoarse whisper. "I have taken the lives of so many. I have killed Men in front of their Wives and Children. I have murdered them in their sleep. I have killed them whilst their backs are turned. I have murdered all in the name of money."

Athos watched, an uncomfortable lump having risen in this throat.

"Forgive me, Lord. I know you offer absolution, but I cannot continue bearing this guilt and this pain." Aramis went on, tears shining in his eyes. "Therefore I choose to end it."

"Aramis, no!" Athos said, rushing to him. "Don't talk like that!

Aramis spoke the last bit of the prayer in Spanish, pressing a kiss to his fingers and bringing them to both his shoulders and then his forehead.

"Aramis, please!" Athos continued to plead with him, as Aramis returned to his bed. "Don't do this! Stop this! Aramis, you are loved by your Brothers! You don't deserve to die! Aramis!"

Aramis raised the pistol to his temple, and closed his eyes, a tear slipping from beneath his eyelid and then sliding down his cheek.

"Aramis!" Athos yelled, desperate now.

"I am truly sorry." Aramis whispered, as if knowing that he was breaking his Brother's heart. His finger went to the trigger.

"NO!"

_BANG!_

Athos heard the bang, but he didn't see it. Instead, he found himself in a quiet alleyway. He could still hear the bang ringing in his ears, his heart beating so heavily that it was jumping madly in his throat. Tears stung his eyes, and he blinked them back valiantly.

Aramis took his own life.

The sounds of a commotion caught Athos' attention. Yelling and shouting echoed down the alleyway. He saw a group of men stumbling into the alleyway, pushing each other and yelling. Drunks no doubt, Athos originally thought, but a sudden roar made him freeze.

A great mountain of a man, shrouded by the shadows, threw a couple of the other men into the wall and punched a third and then flipped a fourth.

Athos knew that force of nature anyway. He took off at a run, going to them, and sure enough; there was Porthos.

Except, Porthos looked so different. Dressed in ragged clothes and coated in dirt, it was clear to see that he wasn't as nearly as kept as he was before. There was no doubt in his mind, Porthos was still a thief.

The Mountain of a Man roared again, as about half a dozen of the Men worked together to hold him down. He looked like a wild animal.

Another figure stepped into the alleyway.

Charon.

The former and long-dead Court of Miracle King threw a nasty punch at Porthos, hitting him in the gut.

Athos lurched forward, wanting to intervene. But something held him back. It was like he was watching the scene through glass.

"What were you thinking, Porthos!?" He boomed, angrily. "You could've got us all arrested with what you just pulled!"

"Stealing from someone who has no more than us is wrong!" Porthos bellowed, straining against the many arms that held him back. "I won't stand for it, Charon!"

"With the Court of Miracles gone, we have to take what we can get from whoever!" Charon countered, justifying his actions. So if Athos had never been born, the Court of Miracles would have blown? "Charity is exactly what got Flea killed!"

"Flea died because she honour!" Porthos shouted, "And I'll die the same way before I see you steal or hurt or kill another soul!"

Charon turned away, rubbing a hand over his face. "You're never gonna stop getting the way, are you?"

"Never." The Big Musketeer -correction- Thief spat. Athos felt a odd sense of pride, as he stared helplessly on at the scene. Even as a Thief, Porthos had honour.

The Other Thief sighed heavily. He tucked his hand into his doublet. "Then you leave me no choice."

Charon whipped around suddenly. The knife blade flashed momentarily in the moonlight before it was plunged into Porthos' gut.

"NO!" Athos roared, pain racing through his heart.

Porthos choked on air, as all the fight left him. Charon pulled the blade out of him, and he cried out in pain. The other men, just as stunned by Charon's actions, released Porthos slowly. They seemed frightened. Unsure. They scattered, like roaches would from light.

Porthos collapsed against the nearest wall, clutching the bleeding wound to his side. He slid down it slowly, gasping and choking on blood that tinged his lips.

"I'm sorry, old friend." Charon said, shakily. The Other Thief disappeared into the Night, leaving Porthos all alone.

Athos could finally move. He darted to Porthos' side, as the Big Man began to lose consciousness.

"No! NO! Porthos! Don't close your eyes! Stay with me, Porthos! Stay with me, Brother!" He pleaded with him, unable to reach out and touch him.

Porthos had already slumped limp. Athos pressed his head to the wall beside Porthos', still pleading in whispers.

"No…Not you too."

His eyes fell closed as tears threatened to escape his eyes and the emotion hurt his chest.

Weeping had Athos opening his eyes. He was in an open field, far away from the City. He was kneeling the snow, and he found himself staring at a tomb-stone. Snow covered the engraving on it.

"He was too young." A soft voice spoke, making Athos jolt. He looked around and saw an aging Woman standing above him. She was the source of the weeping, as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Beside her, another, much older, Woman stood, grasping her shoulder.

"I know. He was good boy, your Son." replied the older Woman. "He died protecting many a farm in Gascony."

Something panged inside of Athos.

"No," He whispered, brokenly.

"First my Husband, and now my Son." The Woman wept, clutching tightly onto the rag in her hands. "My heart cannot bear it."

"You must bear it, my dear. To give up would be a dishonour to the pair of them. Alexander would not want it." The Older Woman said, kindly.

Athos dropped his head forward, squeezing his eyes shut. Not him too. Not the Boy.

"Marie. Your Son is a Hero." the Older Woman assured her, one last time. "He would not want you to give up."

She turned and walked away.

The Mother moved closer to the tomb-stone, placing her hand on the head of it.

"Merry Christmas, my son." She whispered, sadly. "I love you."

As the Woman walked away, a gust a wind forced the snow that covered the engraving to blow away. Athos was faced with the name he so hoped it wouldn't be;

Charles D'Artagnan.

The tears came now. He dug the palm of his hands into his eyes, trying to keep the overwhelming grief that was threatening to swallow him at bay. But it was too much.

He owed D'Artagnan so much. True as it was, Aramis and Porthos had saved his life. But it was D'Artagnan who inspired him to live it.

But they were all gone. Aramis. Porthos. D'Artagnan. They were all dead.

"You wanted to see them." a gentle voice spoke out.

Athos opened his eyes, and once again he found that the location had changed. He was back in Notre Dame, kneeling before the Alter. He rose to his feet, turning to see Angel standing between the pews.

In his grief, anger replaced his hopelessness. With tears still burning his eyes, Athos stormed over to Angel until he was looming over her.

"Where have you been!?" He yelled, into her face. Yet she remained completely calm, unflinching at his anger.

"This was something you had to see alone. There was nothing I could say or do to make you understand what you saw any more." She answered, gently.

"Understand? Understand!? I did not understand why they had to die!" Athos shouted, as the tears fell freely down his face.

Angel frowned, seeming to be saddened by his visible grief. "They didn't have to die, Athos. They just did. Because you had not been born."

"How have I ever had such hold over their lives that without mine they would not have their own?!" He demanded, falling hopelessly onto the front pew as he stared at the front.

Much to his anger, Angel smiled.

"Surely, you know." She whispered, lightly. "Surely, you know that the bond between you four is stronger than just friendship. If anyone of you should die, surely you know that the rest of you would fall."

Athos did not reply. He certainly knew that if any one of his Brothers died, it was wreck those left behind completely. Watching their deaths and kneeling before their graves was testament enough to that.

"And you, Athos. You hold them together. Without you, there could have never been your bond." Angel went on, coming to sit beside him.

"It was never me. It was them, each of them." He said, softly. "They were the ones who saved me."

A silence settled over them.

"I believe that saved each other." Angel said, gently. Athos turned his head a fraction to catch her eye and he couldn't help but smile.

"Yes," He finally admitted. "Perhaps we did. And if my life has had such an impact on theirs, than I would live it. Gladly. So long as I have my Brothers by my side."

Angel grinned at him and reached over to hold his hand. They were frozen.

"Your hands are so cold." Athos gasped, reaching for her other hand. Angel continued to grin at him.

"No, they're not. Your hands are." She told him, mysteriously. He looked up at her, confused. "You're dying, Athos. You're lying in a cold street in Paris. And this is all just a dream."

He swallowed hard, taking it in; "So…none of what has happened tonight…has actually happened?"

"No, it is only what could've been." She confirmed, kindly. "But let it remind you that you are loved, by many. And there are those you have touched and will touch, whose lives may have just been saved."

Athos' brow knitted together; "What do you mean 'will touch'? I thought you said I was dying?"

Angel smiled broadly; "Not today, Athos."

And without another word, Angel leaned in and kissed him. Athos' eyes fluttered close and darkness fell around him, as warmth engulfed him.

_To be continued…_

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**Next Chapter, already writing, hoping to get it out in the next few days!**

**But you know what the best Christmas present would be? A Review ;-) Hint hint.**


	6. Christmas Eve 1625

**Second from last Chapter. It's a Short Chapter.**

**Let's get this baby out before Christmas!**

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**Twas The Night...**  
**Chapter Six– Christmas Eve 1625**

The very first thing that Athos became aware of was just how cold he was. He felt absolutely freezing, the type of cold where your bones ache from it. Yet in total contrast to the cold, Athos felt a heat radiating near him, warming him, and could hear the soft crackling of fire.

Slowly, his eyes fluttering beneath his eyelids, he drifted out of the bliss of consciousness to wakefulness.

Athos peeled his eyes open, and found himself staring up at an expanse of blank ceiling. His brow knitted together as he blinked, his wits slowly returning him.

"Welcome back to the World of living." A gentle voice spoke up, jolting him slightly. He turned his head and saw, standing at a table across the room, was his Angel. Except, it wasn't her.

"You're Porthos' Friend? The Barmaid from last night?" Athos said, his voice hoarse. Noelle raised her eyebrows at him, as she approached him with a cup in hand.

"I'm surprised you remember me." She replied, settling on the edge bed and placing the cup on the bedside counter. "You were deep in your cups last night, I'd have thought you wouldn't even remember yourself."

Noelle helped Athos shift to sit up, and he winced at the noticeable pain in his ribs. She muttered something about them being broken and that she'd bound them.

"Well, you left your mark on me last night – that I recall." He said, dryly, raising his fingers to the cheek which she'd slapped. Noelle looked at him without a shred of remorse as she handed him the cup.

"After the way you spoke to me, I think I was fairly justified." She stated, and Athos felt suddenly quite ashamed of himself. "Just be glad it was me, because had it been anyone else, they might have left you to die in the snow, beaten up and bruised."

Athos handed her the cup back and watched as Noelle got up again and returned to the table at the other end of the room.

"Thank you." He said, after a moment of silence. She looked around at him, taken by surprise.

Athos swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat upon the edge, as he continued; "And I apologise for my insinuations, last night. My Mother would have been appalled by my manners. I've always found that Porthos' friends make better people than the highest of nobles."

There was another silence, as Athos rubbed his sore ribs and Noelle watched him curiously.

"Porthos wasn't lying about you, was he?" She said, resting one hand on her hip as she gave him a thoughtful stare.

He looked up at her, confusion knitting his brow. So she clarified; "He came after me, after I slapped you and walked off. He said you weren't usually like that. That's your normally quite a gentleman."

Athos smiled; even after offending Porthos so gravely last night, his Brother still defended him.

"It's no excuse." He said, shaking his head. "But it is true that Christmas is not...my favourite time of year."

Noelle walked over to him and sat down the bed beside him; "Why's that?"

"For the same reason as many." Athos replied, dejectedly. "Christmas is a time of love; love of God, love of humanity, love of family. And when you have lost everyone who ever loved…it is nothing more than a painful reminder."

Noelle gazed at his face, something changing in her then, something softening in her eyes.

"Who was it you lost?" She asked, gently.

Athos kept his eyes focussed on the ground as he held the silence for a long moment. Before, at last, he answered, his voice so thick with sorrow that it took her breath away; "My Mother."

While it was true; Christmas in recent years continued reminded me of all he had lost – Thomas, Anne, everyone he had come to love; but it had always been a painful time as it was the death of his Mother that hung most heavily in his heart.

"She died, when I was but a Boy." Athos told her, unsure why he was, it wasn't even something he'd shared with D'Artagnan, Aramis or Porthos. "The winter had taken its toll on her…she had grown sick. My Father would have done anything to save her, but no Physician in France to determine her illness. She died on Christmas Day...I was no more than 10."

Sighing, he looked down and blinked back tears that took him by surprise; "I have always hated Christmas because of it. You see, my Mother was kind. She taught me that being Good Man is more important than being a Good Noble. Around this time of year…I doubt just how good a Man I have been."

Noelle suddenly reached forward and curled her fingers in his, taking him by surprise.

"I understand." She declared, sincerely. "I lost my Family also, when I was just a Child. And Christmas…it's a horrible time to be alone. But the one thing we have in common, Athos, is that we are not quite alone as we think."

Athos met her gaze, completely enchanted by the soft glow of her eyes in the firelight.

"My earliest memory is of Porthos. Him and Flea and Charon…the four of us together. None of us had a family, so we found it in each other." She told him, smiling at the memory of her childhood, although so dark had that little light within. "And from what I've seen so little of…Porthos considers you a Brother. You and he and Aramis and D'Artagnan…you found your family in each other."

For the first time, in a long time, the implication of her words hit Athos in the gut. And in that moment, his mind took him back to a time, Christmas Eve five years ago; when he had felt so alone in the World, when he had felt so hopeless and lost, and then that Family had begun.

"What is it?" Noelle asked, noticing the look adorning his face.

"Five years ago, I lost my Brother; Thomas." Athos told her, slowly. "I was devasted. I came to Paris, hoping to drink away my sorrows, and my life. About a month in, I saved a Woman…Constance. She cleaned me up, fed me and scolded me for my life choices. And then, Constance presented me to the Captain of the Musketeers, a good man, Treville. I began to work toward a Commission, which I had earnt within a few months. But I kept to myself, still. I cared not for friendships or companionship. I just wanted to be alone."

Noelle listened, seeming to be unsure why it was he was telling her this story.

"But then, there was the Savoy Massacre. Aramis was the only survivor, and I was the one who found him. And I could not bear to see him fall to grief. So I would stay up with him, through nightmares and insomnia. I would not say we were Friends…but he had come to rely on me. And then I met Porthos. All the other Musketeers were intimidated by him, but I had no real opinion of him, other than he was a good fighter. A Red Guard had made a…crude…suggestion at his breeding. I don't know why I stood up for him…but I did. Aramis with me. And the three of us ended up in front of Treville the next day, as he berated us for taking on a group of Red Guard with nothing but forks."

"Sounds like Porthos to me." Noelle said, smiling fondly.

"Naturally, I distanced myself from them immediately. And then…Christmas Eve of 1625 came." Athos went on, his eyes far off as he recalled the pivotal moment in his past. "It had always been painful due to the death of my Mother, but losing my Brother…it was too much to bear. Drunk and depressed…I didn't want to live anymore."

Any humour she had received from the tale of his first true meeting with Porthos dispersed in that moment, as she recognised that quiver in his voice. She'd heard it in many a Man. It was sound of a broken heart, ready to throw it all away. But then something shifted in his voice, and it was a thrill of hope;

"I don't know what caused Aramis and Porthos to come looking for me that night, but they did. And they found me, ready to jump into Seine. Aramis talked me down. Porthos knocked me out. And I don't know what I said to them that night, in my drunkenness, but from that moment, they decided that they would be my Friends. They stayed with me for the whole of the yuletide – even saw New Year in with me. And they would leave me alone after that." Athos concluded his tale, a small smile on his lips, as he recalled how they would then go on to be Friends, despite his reluctance and quite by accident really.

Noelle smiled again; "A lovely tale. But why are telling me?"

"Because they choose to my Family, when I had none." Athos told her, turning to meet her eye again. "Last Night, I was cruel and cowardly. I was not the Man that my Mother always encouraged me to be. A Good Man."

He looked to the window and asked, quite out of the blue; "What time is it?"

"It's just dawn. Why?" Noelle asked, confused.

Athos turned to look at her; "As I said, I was not the Brother to them that I should've been. And I have not been the Man that my Mother taught me to be. So now, I want to make to them. All of them."

Athos inched slightly slower and added with a smile; "And I need your help."

_TO BE CONTINUED…_

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**Early Christmas Present for you all! Merry Christmas and God Bless Everyone! Xx **

**Please Review and Please Keep Reading…I'm gonna finish this before Christmas Day!**


	7. The Brightest Dawns

**And after a year, we have reached the final chapter! Thank for those who have waited patiently for me to post again after six months, and for anyone new; I hope you have enjoyed!**

**Very glad to have shared this with you, and I have really enjoyed your feedback. Thank you.**

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**Twas The Night...**  
**Chapter Seven– The Brightest Dawn**

"He's not anywhere in the Garrison!" Porthos declared, as he rushed to meet Aramis and D'Artagnan in the middle of empty yard of the Musketeer Garrison, as the clock chimed closer to Mid-Day that Christmas.

"Damn it." Aramis growled, running his fingers through his hair. "We've been searching all over Paris since Dawn. Athos is nowhere to be found! I'm beginning to fear for him."

"Surely it's just a hangover. He'll sleep it off somewhere and he'll come find us later." D'Artagnan said, frowning.

Aramis gave the younger Musketeer a hopeless side-long look; "You don't quite understand, my young friend. The last time Athos was like this…it was five years ago on Christmas Eve…and he nearly threw himself in the Seine River."

D'Artagnan swallowed hard, the implications hanging thickly in the air. "You don't think he'd…?" He didn't finish. He couldn't finish that. There was surely no way that Athos would take his own life, not after he'd come so far.

"Now you can understand why we're worried." Aramis replied, placing his hat back on his head. "Damn it, I should have stayed with him, regardless of what he wanted."

"Look, I know we've been pretty pre-occupied with Athos." Porthos spoke up again, "But I couldn't help…where's the bloody table!?"

It was just then, that the Trio noticed that table in which they Four Inseparables usually resided beneath Treville's Office was actually missing also.

"Red Guards." Aramis said, dryly. "Must be getting us back for the year we stole one of their helmets and put it on the roasted pig for Christmas Dinner."

"The Red Guard have gone too far stealing that table!" The Giant Musketeer bellowed, angrily. "That is crossing a line that they can never step back from!"

"One problem at a time, Porthos, let's find Athos first!" Aramis insisted, patting him on the back. "And then we'll solve the mystery of the missing table."

"Merry Christmas."

All three of them looked around, finding Athos standing in the arch of the Musketeer Garrison. It was as if he had been summoned. And much to their disturbance…he was smiling.

"Where the hell have you been!?" Porthos bellowed, charging forward. If Athos had been afraid that the Mountain of Man was going to react badly, he was caught by surprise when Porthos instead grabbed him by the collar of his jerkin and hauled him in for a bear hug.

Given that Noelle confirmed that he did, in fact, have a couple of cracked ribs beneath a swell of bruising; it hurt. And Athos was unable to hold back the yelp of pain that escaped him.

"What is it? Where are you hurt? What happened?" Aramis' questions shot from his mouth one after the other, faster than a ball leaving it's musket. He quickly rushed over to the older Musketeer, his eyes – life now returned to them – scanning over his body.

"I'm fine!" Athos insisted, as he stepped back from Porthos, although gripping the Giant Musketeer's shoulder for support hardly encouraged them.

"Yeah, right, looks like it too." D'Artagnan said, gesturing to the way Athos held a hand over his ribs. Aramis reached to inspect the offending ribs, but Athos backed off and held his hand up pointedly.

"Please, enough, I truly am fine." He said, sincerely. "I have a few cracked ribs, but they have been tended too. Otherwise, I am completely unharmed."

"Cracked ribs? And just how did you get those?" Aramis demanded; his lips in a tight frown as he glared at his Brother.

"Aramis, please, scowling does not befit you." Athos said, smirking. "I ran into a number of Red Guard when I was leaving the tavern last night, but I am fine."

"Red Guard? I should've known!" Porthos growled, clearly placed in a foul mood; "First, they steal our table! Then, they give a Musketeer who does not have his wits about him a thrashin'! I'm gonna-…"

"The Red Guard have had nothing to do with disappearance of our table." The older Musketeer cut Porthos off, with a smile. "But before anymore is said, please allow me to speak!"

The other three, surprisingly, did as they were asked and said nothing.

"Firstly, I would just like to truly apologise completely." Athos said, the sincerity and sadness in his tone taking them by surprise. "My conduct last night was barbaric. Not only did I outright insult you, but I rejected you when you were only trying to offer comfort and friendship. I am utterly ashamed."

"Athos…" Aramis sighed, placing a hand kindly on his shoulder. "Please do not punish yourself for words you did not mean. We know you too well."

"Aye, mate, you were drunk. And we know Christmas has never been an easy time you." Porthos added, also trying to put the older man's mind to rest.

Athos kept his eyes focussed on the ground, clutching at his hat.

"Actually, you really don't know." He told them, quietly. "My dislike for the Season has had nothing much to do with my Brother's death. It is because my Mother died on Christmas Day, when I was ten years old."

The final truth about Athos' long-hidden past seemed to utterly break their hearts. Whilst finally relieved that Athos felt he could be this honest with them, the revelation of his Mother's loss at such a young age made them all very sad.

Yet, Aramis clutched his shoulder slightly tighter, Porthos put an arm around D'Artagnan's shoulder as he moved in closer to grasp Aramis' hand on Athos' shoulder. It was truly astounding moment of compassion, that Athos knew in that moment he'd never be alone again so long as he had them.

"We never knew." Aramis whispered, sadly.

"I never wanted too." Athos answered, simply. "Besides, I am not finished yet."

He fixed them with the most open look of sincerity and genuineness that it surprised them still; "Secondly, I also want you to know…you are my Brothers, my Family. I don't know what I'd do without you. Not only have saved my life, but you have given me reason to live it. And no more shall I drink to drown sorrows…not when, because of you, I have so much joy in my life."

Aramis looked sincerely touched, D'Artagnan grinned happily, and Porthos looked all teared up. Apparently unable to contain it anymore, the Giant Musketeer shouted; "Ah C'mere you!"

They all gathered for a giant hug, laughing as a feeling of home settled each of them. Because each of them had been in the same place when they come to the Musketeers, they had been without family or friends, without hope or joy; and they had found each other.

"Now thirdly," Athos began, smirking as they all broke away. "I imagine you must be wondering where everyone is."

Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan just blinked at him.

"Come again?" D'Artagnan said, stupidly.

It was just then, that the three of them realised that the table wasn't the only thing missing…as was the entire Musketeer Garrison. There was not a soul in sight. Not Treville, not the Old Blacksmith, not even Jaques the Stable Boy.

"Had you not noticed?" Athos asked, as he watched their shared astonished, and slightly embarrassed, glances.

"Well, it had not been at the forefront of our minds." Porthos said, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

Athos couldn't help it then. He just burst out laughing. It took the other three completely by surprise. They had never heard Athos laugh with such abandonment before. Certainly, they had always had the power to summon a quirk of his lips or a deep chuckle; but head-thrown-back-tears-in-your-eyes-kind of laughter they had never heard.

"My, I have missed you." Athos said, shaking his head exasperatedly.

"Hadn't realised we'd gone anywhere." Aramis said, smirking. Athos simply smiled still, they'd never know just how deeply his dream of losing them had impacted his heart. He secretly swore to himself, he'd never take them for granted ever again.

"C'mon," He said, placing his hat back on his head. "Follow me."

Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan exchanged bemused looks, but followed Athos from the Garrison anyway. They'd nag him and whine at him the entire way, but Athos gave nothing away. They were in for a true surprise.

As they neared the Market Place, they could hear laughter and chatter and song echoing from nearby. And when they turned the corner into the Market Place; Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan froze in their tracks.

For that was where they found the rest of their Garrison. And their table. And a number of other tables, which had been placed end-to-end, to make one big table. Every Musketeer could be found gathered around it, alongside many others; their individual families, their friends, people who had abandoned their homes to join in, market-place holders, bar-keepers, up to and including hungry looking street kids. It had seemed everyone had brought along their own Christmas dinners, and simply shared it out along the big table. So no one would hungry.

"Porthos!" a voice cried from nearby, making them all look around. Noelle came running over, waving and grinning happily. When she reached them, she threw her arms around Porthos in a giant hug.

"What do you think?" Noelle asked, stepping back and linking her arm with Athos'.

"I…like it, I guess." Porthos said, looking between the two of them as they shared grins, a little confused, a little uncertainly and a little pleased.

"What is this?" Aramis said, slowly taking off his hat at the sight, in awe.

"It was Athos' idea. If everyone would put together their dinners, then no one would go hungry and they'd be enough to feed the hungriest." She said, giving him a brilliant smile. "He even paid for more food, for those who did could contribute, so that there was more than enough to go around."

"It's wonderful." D'Artagnan said, grinning as he looked around.

"It's what my Mother used to do." Athos told them, smiling. "Every Christmas, she would persuade my Father to open up the House for everyone, and everyone would bring their Christmas dinners and they're would be more than enough to go around. I thought it about time for me to honour that memory."

"And honour it, you have." Captain Treville declared his arrival, smiling broadly. "Now, are you Gentlemen going to join in the festivities or are you just going to watch?"

And so they did. They laughed and shared food with their fellow Musketeers, with their fellow Human Being, and with each other. Constance was there, admittedly with Bonacieux, but he was so drunk that he didn't notice nor care when D'Artagnan stole her for a dance. Flea was also there, with a number from the Court of Miracles, and she would kiss Porthos to make him blush. A tipsy Treville and Aramis led a group of Musketeers in a round of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman.' And Athos laughed harder than he had in a long time, as he talked animatedly with Noelle the entire afternoon. After everyone had finished eating, there was more than enough to give to the homeless to last them for a few days.

The festivities continued after dark, with lanterns being lit and carols being sung. Carols were sung, Musician played, Folks danced in circles once the tables were pushed aside. Even Athos was hauled up for a twirl with Noelle.

It was, by far, the finest Christmas that Paris had seen in many a year.

It was after midnight, when the crowds began to disperse.

And Athos took it upon himself to walk Noelle home.

And she kissed him silently in her doorway.

And Athos had to endure the rain of questions from Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan when he returned back to the Garrison with a stupid grin on his face. But he wouldn't have changed any of it for the World, because they would stay up the rest of the night, sharing a bottle of wine as they talked of their dreams and of their adventures and of their futures.

And Athos poured another glass for Porthos, he smiled again. Because for the first time, in a long time, he could see a future. But what was it that his Mother, Comtesse Charlotte De La Fere, had told him as a boy;

The darkest nights were always followed by the brightest dawns.

_The End._

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**Thank very much for reading. Merry Christmas. And have a very happy New Year.**


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